Skies and Ice
by QueenSkellington
Summary: "I hate him. I hate him so much, and for so many reasons. I hate him for how he'd made me feel, how much he'd made me love him...I hate how much I'd trusted him. I hate how he looked at her like that. I hate how she looked at him like that. I hate that they were closer than we were. I hate that he kissed her. I hate that she kissed him. I hate that he liked it." Anti-DxG/Angst!DxC


This takes place during TDWT in the episode "Niagara Brawls" when they share First Class. WARNING THERE BE FEELS AHEAD.

-x-

"_I hate him. I hate him so much, and for so many reasons. I hate him for how he'd made me feel, how much he'd made me love him. I hate him for how easily he could pull the real me out of its concrete shell. I hate him for how perfectly imperfect he was. I hate how much I liked that. I hate how good it felt to be near him. I hate how safe I felt in his arms, and how much I loved kissing him. I hate how much I'd trusted him. I hate how he looked at her like that. I hate how she looked at him like that. I hate that they were closer than we were. I hate that he kissed her. I hate that she kissed him. I hate that he liked it. I hate how much it hurt. I hate how much I cry at night. I hated how empty I feel. I hate everything about him._

_ I loved him. I loved him more than I could ever admit. I loved the way he was so confident of himself, every choice he made he was sure it was the right one. At least for him, it was. I loved his quirky smile, and that scar running across the right side of his lips that crinkled slightly when he did. I loved his Mohawk, and the way it felt under my hand. I loved the way he'd lean his head into my hand when I touched it. I loved the way he looked at me. I loved the sweet man he was at heart. I loved his piercings, and how dangerous they made him. I loved his voice and how it sounded when he said he loved me. Only me. I loved his hands and how they felt when he held mine. I loved everything about him."_

I bite down on one of my shirts to hold back the sob. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not again. I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand, watching a tear fall to the page, a few of the words blurring before the tear slides down the page. The words it touches fades, disappear and change. Just like him. I look over the top of the seats in First Class, seeing the green Mohawk. He's turned away from me so I get a chance to actually look at him. Study him.

I watch his hands as they untwist a bottle cap and my eyes slowly go up his arms. They look so hard now. Uninviting and cold as steel. They look revolting now after I know they'd been around Gwen. I want to cut them off. He couldn't hold her if he didn't have arms. But he could still love her. Love her more than he loves me. I shake my head to try and clear my thoughts and choke back more of the frustrating tears and my eyes roam over his broad shoulders.

They're rigid with tension, perfectly straight as he sets the bottle down. I've seen it before, but this time the tension is because of me. He doesn't want me here, and it shows on his face and his body. I wonder how happy he'd be if Gwen were here with him instead of me. I feel bile rise in my throat from the white hot rage that climbs up my spine at the thought.

Before I can refocus he turns around, his face a perfect vision of disinterest before turning to distaste as he looks at me.

"What are you looking at?" _Princess. _I growl at my own mind adding his pet name for me at the end. I wanted to hear him say it so badly, and I hated myself for it, "You aren't going to start crying again, are you?" And I'm caught off guard. Does…does he care? "Because all your whining and moaning is giving me a headache."

I put up my own mask, a scowl growing on my face to hide the sting of his words. I don't know what I was hoping for. For him to come over and look at me with those soft, sky blue eyes and wipe my tears away? To tell me it was okay? That I didn't need to cry, and he'd get back at whoever had hurt me? But the sky has turned to ice in his eyes, and I can almost feel it splintering as he gives me a glare, obviously wanting me to go back to writing.

So I do. And I hate that he's controlling me. He has me on a string and I want to kill him for it. And I want to kill him for him knowing he has me on a string. He's enjoying toying with me and stabbing me in all the spots he knows will hurt most. So I'll make sure to kick him in the spots that'll hurt him most. Several times. I'll make sure that bastard can never have cheating children of his own.

Stupid little Goth, sun fearing, punk, cheating, disrespectful, bitchy, two timing children. I can honestly say I've never hated imaginary children so much. I clutch my journal to me, taking deep breaths to calm myself. _Be rational, Courtney. Think. Why are you so upset over him? He's nothing. _And it works. I toss the journal into the seat next to me, running my hands through my hair and pulling my knees to my chest, hugging them for dear life, trying to capture this moment of serenity.

And in just a wayward glance, the serenity is broken and a storm rises in my head again.

"_He's everything I'd been told to stay away from. If "Bad" had a picture next to it in the dictionary, he'd be it. And I __**love **__it. There's no rationality or reason to it, but I do! I love Duncan! I know my parents are going to kill me when I get off home but for once…I really don't care what they think. And I love it! Of course, there __**are**__ some slight changes to be made…but I can fix those. I can fix them, and then everything will be perfect._

_I know that one day, soon, if I have anything to say about it—and I do—he'll be that guy I'd always dreamed of. He's strong, and he's masculine. But then underneath it there's this soft side. A side that likes to sit with me at night and just…just talk. Talk about things nobody had cared to hear from him. About his dog Petty who ran away when he was little, and how much it devastated him. About his Dad kicking him out of the house for an entire week when he was fifteen and how much of a depression it put him in, and how much it made him realize he wanted his Dad's approval. _

_I love Duncan. Not the showy, tough guy routine Duncan. I love the real, true Duncan. And I have a feeling I always will." _

I'm in tears again. This…this one entry is dated back to Total Drama Island—or more specifically, Playa De Losers. He'd been so cute when he'd gotten off the boat, his brow furrowed in anger and frustration, his lips in a tight line as he slowly came down the dock towards the resort, Chef shadowing him. He's looked shaken, and his fingers routinely squeezed the strap on his duffel bag.

And then I'd tackled him, my arms having gone around his neck in joy and I'd buried my nose in his neck, breathing him in. He'd always had such a unique smell. I look up at him to see him sitting by the window, absently playing with his pocket knife. I wonder if he still has the same smell. Or does he smell like her now? I tighten my fists, glaring at the floor but my eyes soften almost immediately.

It's small, about palmed size and made of cheap wood, but the meaning behind it means so much. It must've fallen out of my bag. My hand shakes as I pick it up, feeling the dips of the eye sockets in the wood, and the notches of the teeth. It's the carved skull he'd given me when I was eliminated from Total Drama Island. I remember looking at this whenever I'd missed him at Playa de Losers and almost feeling his arms around me as I hugged it to me. I remember it feeling warm, almost alive under my touch and having its own heartbeat. It's cold now. The wood seems faded, chipped and worn and I run my thumb down the crack that's grown down the center of the skull, threatening to split it in two.

And that does it. That one crack releases the flood gates and hot tears shamelessly flow down my cheeks, soaking my shirt as loud sobs rip through my throat. I bury my face in my hands, not caring that I'll probably get splinters from the skull. It's the only part of him I have left and it's leaving me too, falling apart and one day it'll just be chips of wood. Unremarkable, un-meaningful pieces of cheap wood.

It's all too much. My sobbing is verging on screaming, my journal precariously perched on my lap as I sob and I don't even look up as I hear his voice.

"What's your problem?" I continue sobbing into my hands. He doesn't care, why should I acknowledge him? "I mean, I told you that your whining is getting on my nerves. And I'm tired of _this_." I feel his fingers brush me and I know he's motioning to me. "I'm tired of you begging for attention by screaming and crying until everybody feels bad for the little C.I.T. Well, guess what? I'm not falling for it. You are on your own."

I stand so quickly the First Class seat squeals in protest, and my glare pierces him even with the occasional sob breaking my composure. "Duncan—" My tone is as sharp as a razor, ready to cut him to the bone. But I can't do it and my tone softens itself. "Duncan…"

"What? Going to yell at me again? Kick me in the nuts? Well, _I _am wearing a cup." I shake my head, holding my closed fist out. He stares at it as if he's ready for a punch, his scowl looking as carved as the skull in my hand. When he doesn't take it after several minutes I open my fist and the artifact drops from my hand and onto his lap.

_Crack. _

We both look down at it to find the skull has finally broken in half, the two separated eyes staring up at us accusingly. I don't wait for him to look back up, storming into the confessional. I sit calmly, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap. My eyes lock with the camera and I keep my face blank. I then pull in a composed breath.

And scream.

-x-

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF….DUNCAN YOU DOUCHE CANOE. :D;; Umm…so…yeah. This happened :T I'm thinking of doing a Duncan P.O.V. of this. Yes? No? ~QueenSkellington


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